The Golden Quest
The medical printer in the break room sat low on filament, its spool clicking against the plastic housing with a dry, rhythmic tick that marked the seconds. Fernando Cruz stood before it, wiping grease from his hands with a rag that had once been white, his eyes fixed on the small red light that blinked in the dark. He was thirty years old, and he owed the Council four hundred credits for the...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima